


There Are Always Exceptions

by Guardian_of_Hope



Series: General Buir and Commander Ad [11]
Category: Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Background Romance, F/M, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_of_Hope/pseuds/Guardian_of_Hope
Summary: Wolffe has an anger problem.  His general has suggested some steps to avoid trouble.  It works until it doesn't.
Relationships: CC-3636 | Wolffe/Original Character(s)
Series: General Buir and Commander Ad [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/702072
Comments: 7
Kudos: 71





	1. Is it really as stupid as you think it is?

“Commander. I regret to inform you that the prototype personal cloaking device was a complete failure.”

Wolffe took a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth and considered the pair of shinies before him. The fully naked shinies. He gave them a deliberate once over and made a note to speak to the environmental officer, it shouldn’t be _that_ cold on the ship. The General liked it a little on the cool side, but respected that the men preferred to be _warm_ after Kamino.

“So I see,” Wolffe finally offered aloud. “I suggest you rectify the situation immediately and then report to,” he paused, “to Broadside for duty. Tell him I said a week’s worth.”

The Quartermaster had been complaining about needing extra hands, and the shinies would be well distracted until the next engagement.

“Yes sir,” the shinies said in unison.

“And one more thing,” Wolffe said, “who exactly _gave_ you the prototype?”

Shiny-on-the-Left’s face scrunched up in confusion, but Shiny-on-the-Right, with the interesting new tattoo, perked up instantly.

“Sergeant Max,” he said.

That was interesting, Wolffe thought, the Sergeant hadn’t been himself since his squad had been ambushed a few weeks back, if he was getting back into pranking bored cadets, then things were clearly looking up.

“Get moving,” Wolffe said, jerking his head over his shoulder.

“Yes sir,” the shinies said, saluted, and ran off.


	2. Is the satisfaction of hitting them worth the fall out?

This was not a promising beginning Wolffe realized when he entered the Bridge. Plo was standing in the straight backed, relaxed stance he favored, dressed in his Jedi robes, and every inch of him the serene Jedi Master that Wolffe had learned to trust.

Across from him, half sitting and definitely _lounging_ on the holotable, was General Quinlan Vos.

Vos was a General by courtesy, an acknowledgement of his rank and the fact that he was on the front lines as much as any other Jedi for all that he had no battalion at his command. Most of the brothers that Wolffe had met tended to fall on one of two mindsets about the laidback Kiffar.

Some of his brothers adored the General and strove to emulate his laid back, everything is a joke personality.

Wolffe spent far too much time hoping the Kiffar would decide it was time to visit Aayla, and more to the point that filthy cheater Bly, and stay there.

“Commander Wolffe,” Plo said as Wolffe finished crossing the bridge.

Wolffe saluted, “General Koon, General Vos.”

“Wolffe,” Vos said expansively, “like the new scar, it suits you.”

Behind his back, Wolffe latched on to his left wrist with his right hand, both to keep his hands away from the thrice damned scar from that repulsive witch, and to keep from showing just how much of a hit Vos had manage to land.

“Vos,” Plo said, in that not a warning tone he used when someone was on the verge of a great deal of trouble.

“What?” Vos asked, “Scars are sexy.”

Wolffe spent ten seconds wishing that they were minutes from engagement, when he would be in his armor and able to block out certain externals, a task he was incapable otherwise without resorting to what were essentially childish tactics that would convey far to much of his opinion of Vos and leave him vulnerable.

“Let us begin the briefing,” Plo announced, and Wolffe caught the quick sign his General made as he crossed to the holotable.

 _Stay calm._ It was an act of great will that Wolffe didn’t snort at the silent message.


	3. Is this a situation in which yelling will solve anything?

Wolffe stared at the small bundle of blankets, then up at Krysta, “What?” He managed.

“Hold her,” Krysta said, “I need to help her mother and there’s nobody else able to hold the baby. You need to sit for a bit while that sets, so you’re helping.”

“What do I do with this?” He asked as he felt it move.

Krysta smiled at him and carefully moved his arms around the bundle, “Just hold her. I promise, it will be fine. I’ll be back soon to take her back to her mom.”

Before Wolffe could formulate any further arguments, Krysta was up and away, crossing the shelter to bend over a Twi’lek who’s torso was covered in blood. Wolffe glanced down at the baby and carefully sighed as he realized that the baby was clearly sleeping. He just had to stay still, that was it. Nothing was going to happen.

He studied the child, with her rich green skin and the brain tails that had been draped over his left arm. She was kind of cute, he thought. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

A soft cough and a scuffling sound brought Wolffe’s head up, arms tightening gently around his bundle. There was movement at the door of the shelter and Wolffe watched it carefully from the corner of his eye.

He wasn’t used to the new prosthetic, not really, but it was very useful at picking up things like the white gloved hand that was creeping around the edge of the open door frame, holo recorder clasped tightly.

The baby shifted and made a little grunting sound.

Wolffe glanced down, “It’s all right, little one,” he murmured as he relaxed his grip a little. “General Plo will take care of Boost and Sinker for me. There’s no trouble at all.”


	4. Is there someone better suited to handle this?

Wolffe probably shouldn’t have been surprised to find a copy of the holo shot by Booster in Plo’s office. He also knew that Plo would put it away after their conversation, because it was a message for Wolffe, not a source of humiliation. Plo wasn’t that kind of person.

“You are here to ask me to do something about this?” Plo asked, indicating the holo.

Wolffe swallowed, “I thought it was better you than I, sir. I’m not exactly subtle.”

“What do you want done?” Plo asked.

Wolffe had put a lot of thought into this moment, although he’d hoped that Plo would just, do his thing and stop it all cold, he knew his general didn’t work like that. Plo preferred being subtle to something overt, and Wolffe had spent time working out what he hoped would be a fair response to the situation. “Well, I can’t pitch Booster out an airlock. So, I guess just keep him from sharing it outside the battalion.”

Plo nodded, “I’m sure that can be done.”

There were times when Wolffe loved his general whole heartedly and without reservation. Usually it was that moment in a fight when the General arrived and saved all their asses, but sometimes it was a moment like this, when Wolffe gave him a problem and Plo fixed it.

“Thank you, Plo,” Wolffe said, unable to think of anything he could say at this moment in time.


	5. What would the General do?

“Nothing is ever easy,” Wolffe muttered as he looked across the room to the bar.

“Let it go,” Krysta said, pressing her fingers into the palm of his hand.

“They, they’re,” Wolffe sputtered.

“I know,” Krysta said.

Wolffe checked the bar, then turned to Krysta, “Just a moment, I promise cyar’ika.” He slid out of their booth, reluctantly releasing her hand, and strode over to where several sergeants were standing around a table. Among them was the distinct, brilliant green tattoos of a sergeant that Wolffe had been planning on roping into an uncomfortable duty at the next convenient opportunity, and this was a perfect example thereof.

“Sergeant Max,” Wolffe snapped, “The bartender requires your assistance.”

“Sir?” Max asked, almost spilling his ale in surprise. Wolffe crossed his arms, making a mental note to set Bexar and Sinker on increasing spontaneous situational awareness drills with the sergeants. If they hadn’t seen him sitting in the bar, there was no guarantee they’d be aware of the clankers about to sneak up on them in the field.

Wolffe tilted his head, “Go, help the bartender.”

There was a loud shout from the shinies as the bartender passed.

“Why me?” Max asked with a sigh, even as he sat his drink down on the table.

Wolffe watched him walk past, and turned, “Personal cloaking device.”

Max’s wince was obvious and immediate. With a brief grin at the other sergeants, Wolffe returned to his table.

“Nice,” Krysta said.

“He owed me,” Wolffe said, offering Krysta his hand again, “Now, I believe we were discussing you.”


	6. There are always exceptions.

After their drinks, Krysta and Wolffe left the bar, intending to take advantage of the base’s small but private officer quarters. The night was nice, just cold enough to keep the local insects from being too annoying, but warm enough that the walk was more a pleasure than a chore.

“This was nice,” Krysta said quietly.

“Thanks for coming out with me,” Wolffe replied, squeezing her hand gently. He leaned in to kiss her, pausing at the sound of breaking glass and something heavy hitting the ground.

“Sorry.”

That was a brother.

Wolffe turned to see what was going on.

The two shinies from the bar where at the corner behind them, one of them on the ground the other standing over him. Before them was an aggressively posturing Shistavanen.

Wolffe freed his hand from Krysta, preparing to step in.

“Kriffing meat clankers,” the Shistavanen snarled.

The rest of what the wolfman would have said was buried in the red haze that dropped over Wolffe’s mind. He was across the sidewalk and taking his target down before he was aware of his movements. The wolfman put up a good fight, but Wolffe had always favored hand to hand combat and he was right there for the wolfman’s every attempt.

Reality reasserted itself in the moments between the connection of the stun and the rush of black that signified unconsciousness.


	7. Aftermath

“I don’t know, I don’t think he’s learned his lesson.”

Wolffe groaned, waking up to Quinlan Vos’s voice and this kind of headache was not a good beginning to a day.

“Wolffe.”

Wolffe paused in the act of opening his eyes, because that voice, the voice of Plo Koon.

“It is time to wake up, Commander.”

Wolffe opened his eyes and sat up. The situation had not improved. He was still in a holding cell with the planetary judicial forces, one that was empty by virtue of his status of combative and dangerous. The situation, in fact, was worse.

General Plo Koon and General Quinlan Vos were observing him through the bars. Plo was as inscrutable as usual, but Vos wasn’t bothering to hide how hilarious he found the situation.

“General Koon, General Vos,” Wolffe said, standing up and coming to attention.

“Commander,” Plo replied as the door opened, “You have been released into my custody. Consider yourself confined to base for the foreseeable future.”

“Sir,” Wolffe saluted to cover a wince. There was definitely going to be a lecture about this when they got back to base.


End file.
